


Headed for Trouble

by oneatatime



Category: Kamen Rider Kuuga
Genre: M/M, Post Finale, other people pop up here and there but the main focus is the ship, plot device amnesia features
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-18 17:28:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16999407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneatatime/pseuds/oneatatime
Summary: Ichijou hit the ground hard, and with considerable irritation.





	Headed for Trouble

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flashforeward](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashforeward/gifts).



+0 days

He wouldn't say 'unscathed' or 'unscarred' or even 'completely without nightmares', but Ichijou had managed to survive the whole business with the Grongi. Oh, he'd had wounds. Broken bones. Abrasions. Trauma to various parts of his body. He'd had heartstopping moments of fear, though more of it was for other people, including certain foolish people who had hair like a startled black dandelion.

Nothing anywhere near as bad as the fallen, though. 

They'd lost so many people.

So he'd survived it, survived a lot. 

It was, therefore, highly annoying to find himself hurtling from a high fire escape having just apprehended a simple catburglar. 

(All crime was important, and all people deserved help when hurt, but really? Losing a DVD player and a string of pearls, when one was insured, was not the most terrible of losses.) 

He caught sight of Nagai's shocked face as the last ditch desperate kick from the tiny catburglar sent Ichijou reeling. Normally it wouldn't be a big deal. It was hard enough to give him a bruise the next day, but not even enough to break a rib. (At least Nagai already had a firm grip on the man's cuffed wrists, so he knew she wouldn’t let him escape.) However, when Ichijou's lower back smacked into the railing behind him, the railing... the railing gave way. 

Nagai shouted as Ichijou fell.

 _Godai isn't even in town_ , Ichijou thought, illogically. It wasn't as though Godai spent every waking moment within five feet of him, and would therefore be able to save him. Poor Godai hadn't even been able to save everyone during the Grongi attacks. But, he thought more reasonably, the thoughts flicking through his mind as he approached the tenth floor and gathered speed, Godai being in town would at least mean that Godai wouldn't have to be interrupted on his latest overseas jaunt .

Godai would want to know as soon as possible. What a bother for him. 

Ichijou hit the ground hard, and with considerable irritation. 

* * *

_"Considerable damage... -cussion, anoxia-"_

* * *

_"-intermittent, not coherent."_

* * * 

_"-eat, too. I'll find you something. -you could go home? It's Ichijou-san, kaa-san, so it'll be okay."_

* * *

\+ 8 days

When he woke the next time, there was a tousled dark head curled up in a chair close to the bed, his face turned to the window. Bed? Oh. Oh, he was in hospital, wasn't he. The tube in his arm reinforced that idea. He lifted that wrist, eyeing the tube with thoughtful consideration. He was covered lightly with standard issue white and blue hospital blankets. Warm enough.

Hospital meant injury, and that meant he'd been injured. No one else. He was the one in bed. He felt... a blankness around his skull, and he had his other arm in a cast. 

So. Concussion, probably, and a broken arm. Maybe a leg or a foot as well. The tube probably had painkilling medication as well as hydration, given he felt decidedly fuzzy. 

"Er," he cleared his throat. "Excuse me?"

The dark head jerked, as did the rest of the body, and the man attached swivelled to give him the biggest grin he'd ever seen in his life. "Ichijou-san! You're awake!" 

"I am," he agreed cautiously. "It's nice to meet you, Doctor-? Nurse?" 

There was absolute terror in the dark eyes looking into his, then the shutters closed hard and his expression smoothed. Nothing but polite concern after that. 

"Godai. Godai Yuusuke," he said easily. "I'm a friend." 

* * * 

They figured out that he'd lost about eighteen years. Eighteen years-! Nearly half his life! Concussion, plus lack of oxygen from the way he'd landed, and the crucial few minutes it'd taken the ambulance to arrive. Damage to the hypothalamus. It might repair itself. 

It might not. 

At least he recognised his mother, but he'd lost so much else. Didn't recognise Sugita, Nagai, Enokida who smiled and argued the doctors into giving her all his charts, this Godai man who kept arriving every single day without fail, with crosswords and colouring and snacks. This - this Godai who knew exactly how he liked his tea. 

 

* * *

\+ 27 days

This Godai, who offered to take him back home once the physical damage had healed well enough. He’d been in hospital nearly four weeks! Intolerable! His wrist sprain was downgraded to careful wrapping instead of a cast, but it still felt weak and he still had medicine to take three times a day. His colleagues said yes, go ahead, he'll take care of you. His mother just smiled, and touched his shoulder, and told him she had to get back to work and she'd call him every day. 

* * *

"I travel," Godai said as he handed over the mug to Ichijou. "We're friends. I stay here now and then, and I work around here, but I have other places I can stay."

Hating very much how his hand shook, Ichijou instead wrapped his fingers around it and didn't try to lift it from the - from his - table just yet. He nodded, having obtained very broad answers to his questions. He hoped very much that this strange man wouldn't want to stay tonight. He didn't even know where the spare futon might be. He didn't - didn't know anything about this apartment, in fact, for all that when he'd reached for the milk it'd been exactly where it should've been. 

"I apologise for interrogating you," he said quietly. 

Godai shook his head immediately, and there was that warm (polite) smile again. "It's not your fault! I know you'll get your memories back, but until then you need company. It's fine. You've helped me a lot over the years, and it’s not exactly a hardship to tell you about my life. In fact, I was in Vanuatu this time, and the _last_ time I went there..." 

Godai went off into an increasingly more and more improbable story, and Ichijou let himself drift from 'is any of this real' right into 'I don't care, it's ridiculous', and then further into '...ridiculous and charming'. He found himself laughing more than frowning, because Godai had a knack for explaining all of this story about the llamas and the runaway melon cart in a way that made it unimportant that Ichijou didn't know anything about current world events. (Or current Ichijou events.) 

He chewed on his lower lip around midnight, when he made it to the bathroom alone, and stared into his tiny mirror with the odd geometric symbol in black permanent marker in the top corner. He looked old, didn't he. Older than Godai. 

Still, no help for it. 

The man was trusted by his mother. His mother. He knew this place, and Ichijou was accustomed to sharing with roommates. 

"Stay, if you like," he offered on his way out. “I imagine you know where the spare bedding is? I’ll set it up, if you show me.” 

The pyjamas under his pillow were striped. At least something was familiar. 

* * *

Godai didn't stay every night, but he was there a lot. Ichijou grew accustomed to him being there for breakfast, for dinner, and often for lunch as well. Often bringing groceries with him. Ichijou managed, after a short time, to begin walking down to the local stores for staples, but Godai brought the interesting spices, the luxurious desserts, the strange ingredients that neither of them had any idea about. Godai knew a lot more about cooking than Ichijou did, and Godai knew more about the little quirks of Ichijou’s stove top and his battered brown saucepans, but both of them had to consult Google when it came to epazote and za’atar. (On Ichijou’s phone, of course. Godai apparently couldn’t hold onto a piece of technology if his life depended on it.) 

It was much easier to cook together than to do anything else. His eyes were weaker, his back hurt frequently, and Godai kept being so damn _solicitous_ of him. He noticed that the lamp in the bedroom had had a brighter bulb installed. There was always filtered water in the jug in the fridge for when his head was especially bad. It wasn't from dehydration, nor were the blurry eyes, but dehydration made it worse. Godai knew. Godai knew a hell of a lot about him. A new lumbar support pillow appeared on the chair at his desk – with that same geometric pattern on it. He must think to ask Godai sometime where he shopped. The pattern kept showing up everywhere around the house.

What really made him fume, though, was the constant restocking of the icepacks in the freezer. He wasn’t an invalid. He could manage.

(Though he had nothing to do, except get better. No purpose. No life.)

It was good that Godai was out, because Ichijou would’ve thrown something at his head. And probably would’ve missed, because his wrist was still healing. Damn him! 

* * *

\+ 35 days

The first day Ichijou made his own way to the Pore Pore, he was met with a round of applause. From Godai, from the older man behind the counter with greying hair, and the woman who looked about Godai's age who had his exact smile. A twin, perhaps? Cousin? . . . no. He’d mentioned a sister. 

They _all_ looked alike when they finished applauding and gave him a simultaneous thumbs-up. 

He felt embarrassed. It wasn’t as though he’d lost the use of his legs. He was shaky, and still recovering from bruises, but his main loss was only his memory. He was capable of walking even when his head hurt.

. . .but they were all so gentle about it, all so congenially embarrassing with their thumbs and their similar flannel shirts, so he smiled. 

Minori sat with him while Godai tied on an apron with that geometric symbol and dealt with the lunch rush. She hopped up now and then to help deliver a plate or wipe a table. 

Ichijou told her eventually that he’d been doing his reading. It was difficult not to confide in her, at least a little. She had a reassuring way about her, that made a lot of sense given she was both Godai’s sister and a pre-school teacher. It felt like she wouldn’t be fazed by someone collapsing in tears on her.

(He didn’t want to collapse in tears.)

(Most of the time.) 

(Besides, she was effectively younger than he was. It wasn’t right to show that kind of weakness around someone younger! It’d mean a completely unfair pressure on them!) 

. . . anyway. 

“Reading?” she asked, smiling. 

“About the things I’ve missed. I’ve wanted to be a detective for so long and I’ve missed most of it. I’ve been allowed to consult some of the non-classified files, I suppose in hope that my memory might return.” 

Because what use would he be if it didn’t? He fought rising panic again. He wasn’t that old. He had significant paid sick leave from work. He could take his time, come up through the ranks again if he had to. He wouldn’t be an invalid forever. 

“Ah. You must’ve seen my brother a lot.” 

Ichijou blinked. “He’s a criminal? I didn’t think his breaking and entering was quite that bad-?” 

Minori laughed, and jumped up to fetch their plates of unsurprisingly good curry from the counter. 

* * *

\+ 41 days

“I don’t want to. It makes me nauseous,” Ichijou said flatly. Certain people not fussing over him in a way that he could pick at, that was making him even more nauseous. 

Godai shook his head. “I’m not your nurse,” he said, smiling at him. “I want to help, but Ichijou-san is Ichijou-san. It’ll be all right, whatever you do.” 

Faced that kind of infuriating good will and trust, Ichijou could do nothing but roll his eyes and take the damn anti-inflammatories. What was most annoying was that he knew that the headache would ease in a few minutes. 

Ichijou picked up the battered little tray with the water and the stupid orange pill bottle. “What if I never get it back.” 

“Then you’ll manage. Like you always do. And I’ll help.” 

“Why-?” Ichijou called helplessly, but the bathroom door closed behind him on Godai’s laughter, and then the shower started up. 

Godai sang so loudly in the shower. It was embarrassing to see someone (well, hear someone) so unabashed about being himself, but it almost made Ichijou want to join in. 

* * *

\+ 53 days

Why was Godai still even here? They were friends, sure, but no friend was this good. This helpful. Especially not when he liked, _needed_ , to travel. No friend smiled so brightly at him for having dinner and the crossword laid out for him when he came home. No friend suggested an early evening walk in the closest park, and insisted on twirling around every one of the recycling bins and then showing the closest children how to swallow an umbrella. (One of his many skills, apparently.) 

No friend took off –

Trenchcoat flapping around him, Ichijou broke into a run after him. The bag snatcher was mere meters ahead of Godai. It was a short, thin man, hair like a shock of gold standing out around his head. Godai glanced back, saw him, and nodded, then hurdled a small child in the centre of the path with her bright red tricycle. 

Without needing to be told, Ichijou understood somehow that Godai knew he was about to break left and take the branch in the path to come at the thief from the other side. 

There was something, almost, in Godai’s eyes when they collided with the bag snatcher in between them. Something light and bubbling, sparkling and entrancing. 

* * * 

\+ 71 days

He hadn’t gone the first couple times that Sugita and Nagai had asked him to lunch. It felt too odd. As though he were imposing, sitting in the seat of their friend, Ichijou Kaoru. 

(“Maybe it’s just that you never like taking lunch breaks,” Godai had offered helpfully.) 

This time was different, for some reason. Perhaps he’d accepted that he had no work life to take breaks from. 

Perhaps he was finally starting to accept that what he needed was to find a new work life, and these people could help. He still had headaches now and then, and would be on medication for at least a few more months, but it was much better. He felt almost like himself.

They were near the Pore Pore, at a café he didn’t recognise, called the Mandolin. It was music themed inside. The waiters and waitresses had a single black musical note on their aprons, there were flutes and trumpets and clarinets on the menus, and soft classical music being played in the background by an excellent pianist. 

That was something he liked about Godai, he thought. That somehow he didn’t stifle Ichijou at all. Even though he was around quite frequently. He wouldn’t mind that they weren’t at the Pore Pore, but he’d want to hear about how this lunch had gone, and Ichijou found himself taking in little details to tell him. 

. . . and why was he thinking about Godai when he had other good friends here, who wanted to support him. He needed their support so that he could get back into police work and then support them. 

Nagai was about the same age as himself (including the time he’d lost) and Sugita. A sharp-eyed woman with a gift for logical leaps that proved right nine times out of ten, she was also incredibly fast up stairs even in heels. 

And she was incredibly guilty about his accident. He could see it in her eyes, though she'd at least stopped apologising every single time they saw each other. 

He hated that, rather a lot, but the best way through it was to just treat her and Sugita like they were normal people, and to encourage the same from them. He didn’t want to be a thing. He just wanted to be Ichijou. Preferably detective Ichijou, but for now he’d take just being himself. 

“A llama and a runaway melon truck?” she quoted, eyes wide. 

Sugita shook his head. “That doesn’t surprise me about him. The things he’s gotten up to!” 

Ichijou was about to correct Nagai that it had been more than one llama, because really, correct llama accounting was important, when a monster ran past their window. They were all three on their feet and running for the doorway before they heard the first screams. 

He’d read about this, of course. Every year there was something! Right back until the dealings with No. 4 about twelve years ago, which he’d had to piece together from the internet, and he was well aware he still didn’t have the full story. That had involved some of these people, hadn’t it.

“Keep back,” warned Sugita, sweat gleaming on his forehead as they fell in behind a wall. This monster had stars in it. It was oddly beautiful.

It was also, however, stalking up to two small children behind a mailbox.

Ichijou snapped, “How can I?” 

Nagai was about to move on his left. The rest of the plaza was empty. Then a movement to Ichijou’s right caught his eye. Another person, behind another wall. Adult sized, so he didn’t need to worry about this person being a kid and needing help. Might be an idiot bystander about to get himself into trouble, though, much like ~~himself~~ \- much like no one. The person was taking off their apron -

“ _Godai?_ ”

“Good,” Nagai muttered, and as Ichijou watched, Godai Yuusuke stuck his arm out in front of himself, and changed to some kind of armoured form with giant eyes and red on the torso. 

* * *

Another monster arrived too, giving Godai some difficult moments, but then a kid practically flew in with a white suit and a rocket for a head. The two of them cleared up quickly, and the kid did a weird gleeful handshake with Godai and flew out again. 

This had been such a day. 

Godai was sitting exhausted on the ground behind the mailbox, stretching out one wrist, then the other, when Ichijou stalked over to him. The plaza was largely empty. The police still had it cordoned off. No one in sight for fifty meters or so. 

Godai looked up, enquiring, then guilty, with that same shutter down over his expression. “Uh, er, I didn’t expect you to see that, Ichijou-san, I hope it didn’t freak you out too much. . .”

Ichijou could feel everything swirl inside him, all the old memories and the new, and he wanted to burst with pride and irritation in this man in front of him who had a graze on one temple. He went down on one knee, bracing himself on Godai’s shoulder. The head wound didn’t look too bad. He'd had far worse.

“Godai Yuusuke,” Ichijou snapped. “You’re _late._ ” 

There was dawning hope on Godai’s face, but Ichijou didn’t look for long. His lips met Godai’s with ten weeks of frustration, passion, and desperate love. 

When they broke apart at last, Ichijou said, “And how dare you let me make you sleep on the futon for so long! The futon!”


End file.
